


Caged Bird

by Night Owl Coop (Griffinish)



Series: Storyteller is My Name [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death Fix, Disabled Character, M/M, Mute Merlin, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-23 00:04:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7458829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Griffinish/pseuds/Night%20Owl%20Coop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Arthur's death Merlin's magic made a deal, a grave deal that stole away his voice and changed the course of time. What happens when things play out a different course all because of one persons wish?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Time Of Myth . . .

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the 'Trials' series; which was originally posted a few months ago before being removed for the sake of editing. There's three parts, and they'll all start with the first two sections of this chapter. The first part being a alteration of the TV Series Introduction, the second being when Arthur died, and the third part starts off around three months after where time was reset to. This will be a three part series;
> 
> Trials of Voices (A Caged Bird)  
> Trials of Sight (A Falcon's Blindfold)  
> Trials of Silence (A Deaf Flight)

On a few occasions as of late whispered words fluttered through Camelot's walls; just under the noses of knights and lords. These weren't whispers concerned with famine or war; far from it in fact. They weren't even words of maids and stable- boys that had been caught with lords, ladies, and knights alike. No these whispers were of a far more worrisome topic then such trivial happenings. They were words hushed so as not to be heard by those nosy enough to try and listen in. Each rushed word was treated like a fine gem that might be stolen away.

 

For in a time of vast myth and in a land of ancient legends the destiny of a once great kingdom rests on the shoulders of a young man.

 

His name?

 

Merlin  Ambrosius.

 

It’s perhaps frightening to think that the future could be altered by a single man’s delays or voiced wants. Sanity can be eroded and lives can be saved. However changing the course of reality and her choices, well that comes at a cost. 

 

Whether that cost is too grave or steep to pay? Well that choice belongs to the one making the change.

 

 

* * *

  
  
  


The king was dead.

 

Burning within the Lake of Avalon as the night began to draw to an end, night crossing over into day and stealing away the remains of hope that laid within the warlock. No longer would he rise with the evening sun to awaken the king for the daily tasks that were required to rule over a vast kingdom. Nor would he ever again lay within Gaius’ chambers practicing magic in secret and cleaning tanks of leeches.

 

Going back simply wasn’t an option he’d even consider.

 

There was no Camelot without a Pendragon to lead them within the dark lying ahead. Without Arthur at the front of their home things wouldn’t be able to stand. Empty spaces were left everywhere like open wounds that’d never heal. It was all over now wasn’t it? This was to be the end to their journey. All that they’d worked hard for would be destroyed in time.

 

Everything was seemingly drawing to an end, their story was over. 

 

They were all merely a chapter in life about to closed forever and cast away to be forgotten. 

 

Still though magic seemed to hum around him and set the area vibrating with energy. Magic always had a hefty price to pay, but even as his memories dragged from his mind and his sight began to blur as time was ripped away from under him there was a remaining thought.

 

_ There was nothing that he wouldn’t give willingly to protect Camelot and her king. _

 

 

* * *

  
  
  


Dawn broke through faint cracks in the cavern, stirring the pale form from his spot. Limbs moved drowsily to sit up and hair was matted with sweat, grime, and blood from wounds that were scattered about the body. The first sound he gave was one that’d been common throughout three months within captivity. A low distressed moan of pain, broken and crackling with each effort to speak or breath in the crisp morning air.

 

Wrists were captured and rubbed raw by iron shackles decorated with the language of druids and filled with magic that been added upon year after year. With magic contained he was no more than a servant locked away. Black, blue, and purple decorated his form, round his ankles to high on his cheek, from untrained magic flaring and striking out. No matter the claims that the lashes were dealt precisely the worry hidden deep within Morgana’s eyes gave way to the panic of accidentally killing what gave her an upper- hand against Camelot for the time being.

 

Three months or perhaps even longer playing a dark game of cat and mouse. Having his body shocked and ripped with a foreign magic until he could hardly even think to react to voiced insults and questions. For a long moment he tried to pinpoint what was happening, listening to the sounds of people flooding past until one set of steps stood apart from the rest.

 

Feet moved swiftly along the rocky floor nearby, cloth of a cloak flowing around the figure, as a faintly amused sigh echoed entered the air, only just audible over the sounds of marching feet. Shifting the servant directed his gaze to the woman as she approached with a quick and sure expression on her face. Black hair framed pale skin like curtains and low ‘tsk’s of scolding entered the air as the woman’s gaze saw wrists that’d been rubbed raw. 

 

“ Merlin; how many times must I tell you? Neither struggling nor magic will not help you get free this time. It’d take spells far more powerful than the likes of you could manage …” She trailed off, head tilted in mock innocence, as she awaited the reply that was sure to come. 

 

It took time to muster his voice, far longer than in days prior, and each word cracked threateningly as though prepared to cut into silence at any moment.

 

“ I’m fine; thanks for asking Lady Morgana. How’s the weather?” Hoarse from lack of fluid and stumbling due to disuse Merlin’s voice seemed to be enough to bring a twisting grin to the woman’s face. Despite the sarcasm words were spoken with hints a caution twined within them, blue eyes darted from face to hands for warnings of sudden movements. How time away from civilization had morphed the witch from a lady to something more

vile.

 

“ You know I’ve heard people consider you to be the king’s dog… I think you more live up to your name; the king’s falcon …” Seemingly content to ignore the other’s comments agile fingers set to tucking away the things she needed with careful precision, everything neatly vanishing within a bag made for a horse saddle, “A caged bird never sings a happy song Merlin; yet the loyal birds always seem to return with their songs in the air… ” Moving closer to the male, who was bound in every sense except physically, a hand shifted to grip his chin Morgana spoke again in a hushed tone,

 

“  _Falcon fidelem fratrem alligabis os meum_ . ”

 

A thin vein of magic coiled within the warlock’s pale throat as the words trailed off, the magic twisted in a searing trail of pain. It steadily burned  away at what it touched to render sounds gone and breathing almost to painful to bear leaving the already dry throat tightened in distress.

 

“ My dear brother will be here soon; I wonder how he’ll take the news of you condition,” Pausing Morgana gave a faint sigh as she collected her things once more, “His servant a mute, even more worthless than before… Perhaps he shall leave you within this prison to rot? You know Merlin he always did tire after his toys broke as a child...” Swift hands recovered the shackles from the near limp figure, shifting to examine the iron with an amused scoff, “Goodbye Merlin.”

  
As she watched the form of the warlock crumble to the floor from the pain, or perhaps merely the shock, the sorceress remained until the cry of approaching soldiers chased her away into the veil of the night sky.


	2. Back to A Perch

“Mer-...”

 

Thin digits twitched almost instinctively at the distant tone, as though in an struggle to answer a command. Even one that fell upon ears deafened by remains of Morgana's magic muscles twitched at the familiar tone as it echoed along stone walls. For a long moment the servant fought against the sleep attempting to claim his mind. Everything seemed sluggish as though Morgana had left hours or days ago instead of mere moment prioruntil finally eyelids opened allowing in a rush of senses, the unwelcome presence of reality nearly sending blue eyes back into hiding at the blinding lights that attacked them and the cruel clangs of armour that assaulted his hearing as sound focused into once his sight settled.

 

“...-lin!”

Torches; the blinding light was that of torches that knights held as they flooded past to check other cells within the tower. Orange and white light danced along the stones as it pooled from between the guards keeping him secured in the cell. Had his body not been worn and his mind foggy he might have been able to get free with magic. Instead he sat watching quietly as his throat burned with pain and his mind burned with thoughts of the time spent with Morgana. Slow thoughts momentarily struggled to piece together little facts, bits and pieces coming across that attempted to force themselves together like a broken puzzle.

‘ _ Aren’t knights suppose to be skilled at silence? _ ’

For the briefest moment chapped lips curled into an amused, and perhaps delirious, smile at the memories of the knights and the king arguing about who had startled off something along the lines of a hart or stag. Their antics were enough to settle the pounding thoughts until a faint wisp of a laugh left him in a trail of searing pain and startled his mind back to awareness, blue eye flickering open to catch sight of a familiar face, or a few actually.

“Sire-...! Sir Gwaine! You don’t know what-!”

Within moments the voice of Leon turned into a faintly aggravated protest and faded to the sound of metal armour scraping against metal armour, something that would have brought amusement to the raven- haired servant in any other situation; the other knights still were still seemingly a challenge for the more experienced knight to tolerate sometimes. Nonetheless the knight seemed to merely offer a short lived sigh as the others filed past and joined the reckless male in the process of unlocking the cell. Tense hands resting on their blade’s hilts as Merlin quietly watched them stumbled through their work. For the briefest of seconds it was like he could feel the knights searching the area with their sights; like hounds searching for prey during a hunt almost.   


“Who’s that? Near the back.”

Arthur. 

 

King Arthur.   
  
Something about this suddenly felt strange, as though his mind could suddenly let some of the panic flood away. Panic he hadn’t even realized had been there. Though after a few seconds he passed the thought off quickly to dehydration, not wanting to dwell on the dark feeling that’d suddenly snapped into his mind before just as quickly vanishing. Hadn’t Gaius said that not drinking or eating could mess with one’s mind?

Briefly the pain left from Morgana’s enchantment seemed to retreat as the form paused to instead strain to catch onto the words in the air. The king’s voice was catching his attention with a quickness that came from years of service, mentally struggling to try and insure Morgana’s absence despite his state. Head rolling back faintly and eyes closing tightly as short breaths left his form. Matted hair was briefly and fitfully shaken to try and see the men better. Fingers clutched the fabric of the blanket he’d been sitting upon, quietly dragging it round his form, making pale skin seem even whiter in an attempt to ground himself to reality.

“Merlin?!” 

Weapons clattered to the ground at the name, boots audibly sending bits of rock into the makeshift cell as the king quickly made his way over to the door, briefly pausing to move, or well push, Gwaine out of the way. THere were a few jolting sounds that sent ringing through the servant’s head before the door was swinging open.

“Merlin you better not be dead!”

Relief was barely taken into notice before it was ripped away. When, out of near instinct crying to send a sharp retort to the king, his jaw opened and lungs drew in a breath of cold, cold air within that single deep breath panic flooded back like a flooding river dragging him under at the sudden rush of tormenting hidden wounds. Each limb that’d been warmed with relief at the king’s annoyed tone, worry echoing through it nonetheless, locked all over again and folded.

Hours seemed to have passed, though it was mere seconds, before gloved hands were attempting to move his body, attempting to get his panic to cease and limbs to stretch back out. He could hear the cursing, shouting to grab something that Gaius had sent before Arthur was back. There was a phial pressing to his mouth, one of Gaius’ if he wasn’t mistaken, despite attempts to shake his head loose near violently.

“ Merlin-... You’re going to hurt yourself, I know it’s hard but you need to stop being an idiot for just a few moments!” Despite the words the grip loosened as the servant's body was shifted from the cold wall, briefly bringing the feeling of nothing but air and the still unwelcomed phial, patiently waiting for the right moment to pour it seemed, before something else took the walls place.

“Gaius said to treat him with caution princess; you aren’t exactly the definition of ‘gentle’, maybe one of us should take him?”

“Gwaine…” Arthur, if Merlin was following the conversation properly, shifted under and behind him as he spoke. The simple name seemed to have a warning tone behind it at Gwaine’s comment. There seemed to be no further debate as to how they’d handle him as everything seemed to grow silent.

Briefly the warlock gave a worried shuddered, eyes finally opening again to take in the blurred sight of hand grasping the phial that remained a steady presence. For a moment he attempted to make sense of the foul scented liquid within it. There was a sudden urge to return to struggling almost violently against the unwelcome liquid before he went limp with an almost defeated sigh. Heaving a broken, wheezing, sigh lips parted uneasily to allow Arthur to tip the vial back. Irritation minutely entered his mind at the amused chuckle that came when his eyes closed tightly and nose wrinkled at the foul taste and the dull pain in his throat as the medicinal herbs numbed it. Moments passed before the blonde gave a cautious cough, looking over the knights as they settled in a seemingly unanimous decision to set up a camp for the time being. The silence seemed to steadily unsettled the other, hands cautiously prodding him as though to agitate noise from him as the tension left his body.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It wasn't until the knights settled about their routines and night seemingly settled around them that Merlin finally began to move. Having been moved to a cot- that seemed to have a strange resemblance to one of Arthur's old ones- Merlin was free to examine those around him with a pained, yet amused, expression.

Gwaine was rambling on, a story that seemed to have more bandits every time it was told, while the others listened with grins and randomly thrown in input. Eventually his gaze traveled to Arthur's cot. The king was leaned against the wall with closed eyes as though he'd drifted off despite trying to remain alert. Moving closer he pause to take in the others tired expression before he shifted his weight to reach out a hand, curling his grip around Arthur’s wrist. When the other jerked faintly, eyes opening as though he hadn’t expected the other to stir so soon, Merlin felt a weak smile returning to his face. 

“What’s wrong with you now? Don’t think you’re getting out of work, you shouldn’t have run off-”

As the other shook his head Arthur grew quiet at the uneasy feeling growing in the air. No matter how many times he’d told the servant to shut up it seemed almost unnatural to have such a constant silence around the normal constantly rambling male that’d served him over the years. Glancing at his hand a eyebrow rose at the stubborn grip. It wouldn't take much to break it, to threaten a trip to the stocks or dungeons, but he remained quiet nonetheless at the familiar curiosity about the blatant disregard for common rules.

When his hand was lifted his head tilted to follow it, watching as the leather glove contrasted against the other’s pale throat that it was guided to rest against before a nervous noise left his throat. Nothing about the situation seemed like it'd bear good news.

 

“... Quit goofing around, what do you want?” Briefly his hand twitched before he pulled it away, briefly having to war with the other’s hands before managing to pull the glove off. Before the glove had even landed on the ground Merlin’s hands had reclaimed his own to guide it back to his throat, the action drawing an amused chuckle from the king. A few snorts even left the nearby knights as amused sights watched the king’s manservant blatantly becoming more demanding and impatient as though confident no punishment would come for behaviour normally frowned upon.

 

Though silence reclaimed the cave, unease spreading as the king’s face seemingly paled. Fingers twitched about Merlin’s throat almost as though in thought as the servant’s mouth moved and throat worked to try and form words before growing still. Cautiously Merlin pulled away to shift back, settling upon his own cot once more as he let the king’s hand fall to rest on the edge of his cot.

 

“... Go to sleep Merlin; don’t go jumping to conclusions. We’ll get to Camelot, Gaius will see you… He’ll have a solution.”

 

Shaking his head the male felt his lip twitch into a weak grin, listening to the other's denial. For the moment merely resting among familiar companions was enough.

 

If the king’s hand remained rested by Merlin’s head?

  
Well nobody needed to know.

**Author's Note:**

> Falcon fidelem fratrem alligabis os meum (Muzzle my brother's faithful Falcon)


End file.
